A What if Epic
by Birchbud
Summary: What if Luke had killed Vader and joined the empire? What if Han had died in the final battle? And what if Mara had entered his life under darker circumstances? An alternative ending, and the beginning of a new tale...
1. prologue

Later, alone in his bedchamber, Luke Skywalker (for he had refused to change his name) would scroll through that moment cemented in his memory and he would wonder why he did it.

Perhaps it was because he was wearing a mask--the skeletal frame with black eyes--and didn't seem human at all; just a symbol for Luke to channel his anger. So he channeled it, in those dark moments in the chamber, but instead of dissipating the hatred seared until his thoughts were so blurred that the final strike seemed to come on its own, forced down upon his father by something very dark--a coldness that crept up his arm and curled around his heart: the dark side.

And while his whole life he dreamed of victory, he stood before his father's body as the Emperor's laughter grew and waited, waited for the triumph to touch him--but it didn't; only a deep sadness. He'd _felt_ his father's death--a ripple in the force, neither evil nor good--just an emptiness where something alive had been before. The last Jedi knelt by Anakin's side and yanked off his mask--jerkily, angrily--and the helmet cluttered beside him before lolling back and forth as if it were in pain. His father's face was very scarred and pale, but it held so much more humanity than the costume that Luke felt a swell of compassion and sadness and thought, "I could have saved him." He'd be thinking that all of his life.

The Emperor had stopped laughing. The mask stilled facing Luke, and he remembered his visions on Degobah and shivered. The only sounds in the room were Skywalker's harsh breathing and the hum of a ship in battle.

"Good, Skywalker. Now come with me and complete your training."

_"Ben,"_ he whispered, but the room remained silent while the Emperor smiled.

"You have learned to use your feelings to your advantage. The dark side will flow through you, as it did your father. You were meant for great things, Skywalker. It is your destiny."

Luke stood up and faced the Emperor, lightsaber drawn. "No."

"Your friends..." the emporer paused and looked out the window to the stars. "Have failed. The Millenium falcon has fallen, and our forces are closing in on Endor."

Skywalker tensed, and the anger flared again; his grip tightened on his weapon. "How do you know Han's been shot down?"

"I have foreseen it."

Luke closed his eyes and searched the force, though Vader's death reverberated strongly through it--a great loss--and above the hum of the universe and the billions of life forms crying out, he heard her screaming. _'Sister.._.' And Han... His eyes flew open in alarm. Han was dead.

"So you feel it. Soon the rest of the rebellion will soon join him."

A cold silence followed. Luke's eyes trailed past the window to the outlines of ships spinning above blackness. Every few seconds one would burst into flame, and it looked like the stars themselves were dying. "I'm leaving now," he said, too in shock to analyze the fact that he was conversing with the emporer. "If you won't permit me to go I'll strike you down."

"You wouldn't kill me regardless?"

Very aware of the body at his feet, Luke swallowed and shut his eyes. "I have to find Leia. Soon. I have to go." And then he put away his weapon and turned his back on the most powerful man in the galaxy, his father's corpse cooling on the floor."I have to leave." His heart was racing very, very fast, his pulse jerking through his limbs like a hot thread beneath his skin.

"If you stay," the Emperor called out, "I will stop the attack on Endor and spare Leia's life. She lives, still."

Luke stood frozen, feet away from the doorway. If Ben had spoken perhaps he wouldn't have fallen (so many what-ifs), but he felt so lost at that moment that such a deal was the only thing he could do. _For Leia, _he turned around and faced the Sith--_For her,_ he knelt down, knees on the cold floor, and touched the hem of his robe. _For them,_ he held back tears when the Emperor touched his head and said, "Congratulations. My new apprentice."

And in that moment, the rebellion was defeated.


	2. Chapter 2

A world away, Leia felt suddenly very cold. When Alderaan burst it hit her, and it felt so similar: same stinging emptiness, like the vastness of space. Later on, she realized it was the force speaking to her. Again, among the ferns and gunfire on Endor, she felt the same hollowness strike and knew. _Han..._

But she was leading the attack and they were losing, so mourning spread throughout her body: numbing it, and she was shaking--but her mind remained surprisingly focused and clear. _"Han's dead and we have to win. We have to win."_ The stormtroopers were flowing in white waves through the forest. She continued barking out orders and trying to lead the rebel force, not putting her duties on pause for one second throughout her realization.

Then all at once the Ewoks seemed to sense the Death Star and looked up at the sky. It seemed as if it were trembling, but she wasn't sure whether it was or she only was_ feeling _that in the force. Everything blurred after she spoke with her brother on the bridge; she wasn't sure how to control this new world at all. And then the message came in over the radio: "The Death Star is operational!" She looked around at the Ewoks clambering and crying, then watched at the forest's leaves swaying, framing their death looming in the sky. It was too late for evacuation. Too late.

Only nothing happened. She breathed and felt the forest's coolness beneath her feet--still no laser came and struck the earth. Another message sounded: "They're withdrawing. We aren't sure why, but the Empire is leaving. What's our next course of action?"

A band of stormtroopers was heading for her while others around them retreated into the fauna. "... Evacuate, abandon the mission. Cease fire. Cease fire. Tell everyone to retreat--we'll regroup on Arbra." The Ewoks were scrounging for the dead while too many imperials to fight surrounded her. The lack of gunfire shocked her; a fragile silence crept over the land. She thought that Luke must have done something to save them. There was no other explanation for this sudden truce.

"You're to come with us."

_"To be executed.." _she heard from ages ago, and wondered why they didn't just strike her down now and cut with the finery.

Her radio crackled: "...Princess?" She switched the device off and let go of her gun; once it his the grass, the stormtroopers closed in and her tears finally spilled. _"Luke..."_

* * *

Even though it was silent and stark on the ship, Luke heard thoughts clamber over one another so loudly that whatever his 'master' was saying was drowned out. A tour. To feel make his stay more 'comfortable.' His stomach was sinking--what if he'd made a mistake? But the cacophony ached so much it was his primary concern: _Han's dead, han's dead and probably floating bloated in space or in pieces among rubble, Vader lost, and Leia is very scared right now, very frightened and she knows_--God, she was hurting so much over Han. He stretched out to her and tried to let her know: _"I'm okay." _The emperor's pace quickened and he became silent, their footfalls echoing throughout the barren halls.

To his surprise a response rang out loudly, somewhat panicked and uncontrolled but very strong in the force--the words weren't clearly formed, but he sensed enough: _brother _and relief. The Emperor frowned as Luke concentrated: _"I killed our father."_

She sensed the depth of his pain and said, _"There's nothing else you could have done." _Her words were much clearer than before. _"Han,"_ she continued, and the waves of fear and disbelief were enough to get the message through.

"Skywalker." The emperor stilled and faced his new apprentice. "You are not to communicate with the her for the time being. I can sense your feelings... clouding things." He sneered somewhat and continued walking, his footsteps hitting the floor with a new anger.

Luke closed off his mind, but he could still feel Leia trying to reach him and thought that whether or not he tried he would always be linked to her. He could _feel _her state of being so clearly; it was like a pillar to hold on to--some measure of comfort. The only family he had left now. _"I'm sorry."_

The Emperor quickened his pace to let Luke know he was aware of the words, and the new Sith followed him in with his head bowed through the corridors. "You are no longer a Jedi," his master said, the words sharp and final. Luke didn't protest, and the future of the galaxy took root in his silence.


	3. Chapter 3

It has been one month and I _need_ to speak to Leia. Some nights, in the moments before I fall asleep, one of her message will slither through cracks in my shields: "Luke, the Empire has been holding me since Endor--they're treating me well and say it 'isn't safe' for me to leave. I hear you're with the Emperor. Contact me, Luke. I know you hear me." Those were the words that slipped through last night. Her transmissions are getting clearer, even though I haven't responded since _that day_ on the Death Star. Perhaps she's learning to control her powers in her solitude.

My Master sensed it of course, and warned me once more to fend off her messages until my training is complete. He assures me she's in perfect health. I feel her fear churning into frustration; I think she understands that she won't be harmed.

I know where she's being held--at first I begged my Master to release her, and I was so angry that she'd be stolen away and shoved into a box like a criminal. But my Master spoke to me for long hours and reminded me that she'd join the rebellion and then he'd have to squash another attack. I can see her when my training is complete.

At first I ignored him when he visited--a shadow trailing around me throughout the ship. Our first conversation was about a week after my first night aboard the Death Star. It was about something trivial--small talk--but I just hadn't spoken to anyone in so long. The crew are fearful when they address me and obviously uncomfortable in my presence; I fear my father's reputation has been passed down to me--"Vader's son," I pretend not to hear.

I'm so sorry father.

My Master encourages writing, but I haven't actually picked up a pen until now. Maybe in defiance of him.

But I'm so tired of fighting these small battles. It would be so easy just to give in. It seems the longer I stay here, the more I can sense _it_ seeping in... always so cold.

Save me-

* * *

The boy is not doing well.

I assumed he'd be easy to turn--he hadn't been a Jedi for long, and his grip on the light side wasn't complete. After striking Anakin down I thought he'd turn to _me_.

But Leia. Their bond is too strong. The boy is attempting to block her out, but she still gets through--the link between force-strong twins is deep. I regret sparing her life. Perhaps if she had died, Luke's isolation would be complete and he would surrender himself to me.

Although it isn't too late to correct that miscalculation. _She_, though force-strong as of late, will not convert. She has been cemented to her beliefs for too long. And such _dangerous_ ideas...

She is of no use to me.

* * *

_I don't know where they're taking me._

_'Luke.'_

_I hate this metal world, and all the straight shadows looming over the corridors. _

_We're in the Medic's room._

_'Luke?'_

_There is a needle. A stormtrooper is holding it, and it looks odd--too small in the white gloves, too technical and precise--and he just said, "To relax you, princess. We want to conduct some tests to make sure your health is fine. Nothing big."_

_He is lying. I know it. "No," I say, "I'm alright without it."_

_They do not know how to react. They are nervous, and have locked the door behind them. Something is very wrong._

_'Luke!'_

_The one with the needle is preparing it regardless, and hands fly up to hold my arms tightly to my sides. I don't struggle; I eye their blasters in their holsters. The needle is pressing into my skin now._

_"It's alright Princess. Just breathe. You're going to be fine."_

_He plunged it in, and now I can feel it spreading through my muscle and out into my tissues. Poison. Their minds are relaxing now, the mission complete, and they're watching me to see what will happen. They're all thinking, "Poison."_

_I expect it to be hot, to burn like acid through my veins, but it is icy. I feel numb--detached, and everything's very cold. The stormtrooper with the needle has put his hand on my shoulder. He is rubbing it with his thumb--very discreetly, but I notice. He is crying. Behind the mask, I know he is crying._

_The cold doesn't sting anymore; it's soft now, like a cool pool, and I feel like I'm floating and the air is very thick._

_I should tell Luke that it isn't his fault, and contact the rebel base so they can establish new leadership. But my head is too soft and cloudy to command the force clearly. It's alright._

_"It'll be fine, Princess. Just sleep."  
_

_It's okay. It's telling me it's alright._

_'Han..'_

And years later every Imperial in the room remembers the warm wind wrapping around Leia (it felt so thick and peaceful), and how she didn't struggle when she felt the needle plunge, and the small smile that graced her lips. And every one of them felt like they had murdered a saint.


	4. Chapter 4

When Han died (it seemed like so long ago already), the knowledge had hit him all at once. It was different with Leia though; he sensed, as if it were inside himself, organs dying, slowing, and he waited, head in his hands, for the longest minutes of his life while a strand in the force shivered and cried out before curling into itself and dissapating into nothing.

This new emptiness was vast. They'd been linked since birth, and for the first time he searched his soul clearly, without a bright presence spreading from his sister to himself: lining him, bonding them together.

The Emperor was approaching his room. For some reason, Luke wasn't angry or hungry for revenge--he simply felt dead, and he slumped like marionette with torn strings on his bed as his master walked in. A coldness spread throughout his chest with his arrival, and though Luke knew it was the dark side he welcomed it. Anything was better than than the emptiness. Anything.

"It's unfortunate, Skywalker," his master said, then sat down beside him on the mattress. It was unusual--an even playing field. "That her life ended. Our forces were unaware of the dangers lurking on our own ship!" An angry sneer took hold of his features. "The rebels poisoned your sister. They thought she would leak information--many were aware that it was _her_ close connection with Alderran that destroyed the planet."

"Why?" _They would not do that._ "Why not free her?" _Is he lying?_ But Luke could not penetrate the Emperor's sheilds, and knew that his master would notice an attempted invasion.

The anger on Palpatine's face faded, overtaken by a look of amusement--for a moment he appeared fond of Skywalker, somewhat grandfatherly even, and Luke clung to that small bit of approval. "Oh, you are naive still, my lad. Would they lose their entire fleet on a lost attack on this Death Star for one girl? You don't know who assumed command in your absence. It is customary for the rebels to take their lives rather than leak information about the alliance... perhaps they had to enforce that protocol."

Luke curled his fingers around his sleeves--black fabric, everything was black and gray here. "How do you _know?"_

"... Did you _feel_ her being poisoned?"

Then Luke remembered the coldness stinging his arm and spreading black through to his heart, and felt her give in. Why did she just give in? (Like Ben, Like Vader?) "Yes I felt it."

The Emperor nodded somewhat empathetically. "As did I."

A silent moment passed in which Luke thought that asking if his master had a hand to play in her death wasn't justified, really. Why would he put in so much effort to preserve her life (even halting an attack months in planning!) to simply kill her off? "Did you catch them? The rebels," he spat with new hatred. _Her blood on their hands._

"It was a droid in the kitchens. It was terminated, of course, but I apologize that we didn't apprehend the real culprits."

The void in Luke's heart was filling, second by second--_anger _and _revenge,_ and suddenly he didn't feel quite so alone; beside him was an ally in his plans. "The Alliance shall be destroyed," he said, and felt (for the first time in a month) like he had a sense of direction--_purpose._ "I'll lead a rebel attack," he said. _For her._

The Emperor smiled, then put his hand on skywalker's shoulder. "That, I can help you with."

* * *

_Why did Vader give in?_

One month ago, lying injured on metal slats, stars in view behind his son, Anakin eyes the lightsaber in Luke's white-knuckeled grip. He was acutely aware of his master in the room; he knew that if Luke refused to kill him the Emperor would end the boy's life.

He felt, in between falling and the final blow (for time seemed to stretch), a stinging sense of betrayl--his master would not mourn his death. But the anger that filled him then (and had filled him all his life) fell away when he realized that he could not move and found himself thinking, _"Strike me down."_

And wasn't it ironic that the dying thought of the most feared man in the galaxy was: "Better me than my son." So he went willingly towards death, because after so many years of searching he was holding a purpose--"Live, Luke."

Then a lightness wrapped around Anakin as he finally found his peace.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Master Yoda. You were right. The boy should not have been trained in the ways of the force." 

"Told you I did! Too much like his father. Lost, now."

"It is never too late. Even Vader found the light side, in the end."

"But too late! And it will be too late for Luke too."

"I'm sorry."

"Apologies--Obi-Wan, always wading in regret. Watch, is all we can do now. And pray."

As the two spirits eyed the last Skywalker, another presence joined them.

"Welcome back, Anakin."


	5. Chapter 5

Another month later, Mara Jade was combing her hair when the Emperor contacted her for the first time since Vader's death. The plastic clattered against her desk: "What is your bidding, my master?" She silenced the rush of resentment and anxiety that accompanied his voice and focused on the flat, broad leaves of the forest bridging the property, their swaying shadows dappling the grass. _Calm, clear--_she emptied her mind and braced for his next communication.

"You are to accompany my new apprentice on his first mission: an attack on rebel bases located on Arbra. I know _partnering_ is rarely necessary, but should anything happen... Skywalker's life is too important to risk. You are to ensure his safety at all times. If he dies, you will as well. Am I clear?"

"Yes, my master."

"Good. Report to the Death Star."

His presence suddenly left the room (which right away seemed sunnier). Mara sighed and picked up the comb, reminding herself that vanity was a luxury at that moment--_Vacation time's over._

She dressed and packed, all the while reflecting on his words. _Skywalker..._ The rebel who joined the empire--Vader's son, though thought to be twice as powerful as his father and far closer to the Emperor. A chill went down her spine--she didn't like the idea of being with that man for any length of time.

As rumor had it, he killed his own sister.

* * *

"Her name is Mara Jade. She's been working as an asassin for me for some time--an adept fighter, strong-willed and obedient. She knows little of the force, but what she does is drawn from the dark side. She is to ensure your safety... and you have been yearning for company for a long time."

"Thank you, my master."

"Prepare yourself--she will arrive before nightfall."

Luke repressed a sting of bitterness--_nightfall_ on this station was lights-off; the artificiality of everything was driving him mad. He looked forward to arriving on Arbra (the scenery was supposedly beautiful).

"That is all, Skywalker. You may leave."

Luke bowed then left the room. _Mara Jade,_ he thought while men in the halls parted for him (he'd long ago grown used to their cowardice). Within the past month the Dark Side had bloomed like a flower--a new world, new powers: a new start. He loved the knew knowledge. Craved it. He hoped that Mara would have something to teach him--he hadn't even begun feeling the depths of his power.

* * *

From all the photographs and stories and drawings, she'd pictured Luke Skywalker as the rebel hero: flowing white clothing and blond hair, his skin warmed by the sun--so what struck her most immediatly upon meeting him (more so even that the aura of power crackling around him form) was that he was wearing black. This was not the hero's hand she was shaking. It was the hand of the next Sith. She repressed a shiver, but he seemed to notice anyway.

Why hadn't anyone spoken of how cold his eyes were?

"You've been briefed on the mission?" He asked. Straight-to-business; well, that she knew how to deal with, and was somewhat grateful for.

"Yes. Get to Arbra, use the landing code provided, learn of any hidden alliance plans or bases, then terminate the rebels. Simple enough." She noted that his eyes were darting all over her hair and face, examining her clothing, body and skin--she wondered if he could read her mind, and strengthened the shield she'd learned to erect to keep the emperor out of her thoughts. They began walking to their ship. Imperials in the halls glanced at Mara striding at Luke's side, too frightened to even whisper their speculations.

"Good."

Perhaps he sensed that she was uncomfortable with small-talk, because he left it at that and they settled into a comfortable silent walking rhythm. She relaxed a bit. The energy flowing from him wasn't nearly as cold as the emperor's, and for that she was thankful and somewhat surprised. He seemed to ignore everything but the path before him and her at his side. He hadn't stopped examining her--though his eyes were no longer roving over her form, she could sense tendrils of his energy reach out a probe her spirit, more curious than demanding; the gentleness of it shocked her, for the emperor had always forced thoughts from her mind in a somewhat painful way. Then the energy drew back up into his form rather suddenly (was he aware she knew?) as he turned and smiled at her: "Here it is."

The ship was inconspicuous--regular size, a standard shape, not very bright or battered--unremarkable in every way. She led the way up the ramp and into the cockpit, plopping down on the pilot's seat with a grin. "Alright!" She hated _waiting_ for a mission to start--she always felt relieved once she was before the controls, the universe at her fingertips. "Let's get going, Skywalker."

He sat in the co-pilot's chair, face blank (which made her more uncomfortable than if he simply frowned) and stated: "I'm the best pilot in the galaxy."

She jumped into the first power struggle tooth and nail. She would _not_ endure any more servitude. "Bet you are. But these aren't really advanced tactics, you know? So I'm just going to get going here." She punched up the engines and the ship rumbled--Luke's face finally broke into a frown, but he remained silent.

Mara smiled while navigating into the stars: maybe he wouldn't be unreasonable after all.


	6. Chapter 6

He watched her control the ship with ease: fingers flowing over the dashboard, contented, and thought that she was rather striking. He'd been examining her since they met, and though she strayed from the soft features and dark hair that usually caught his attention the structure of her face was very elegant. Sharp features: high cheekbones and fair skin contrasted wholly with her flaming hair and jade eyes--yes, she was striking in a harsh way. Abrasive really, just like her personality--she hadn't been civil to him at all, electing to ignore his presence completely.

Still, it was a welcome change from the crew's fear and the emperor's indifference--someone new to analyze: change, at last. He shifted in his seat with a new determination to talk to her--they would be spending time together for a while, after all.

"You seem a natural pilot," he commented.

He sensed surprise at his civility and wondered which stories she'd been hearing. Her hands fell away from the controls and she sunk into her seat, eyeing him somewhat warily. "Yeah."

He cleared his throat awkwardly and pressed on: "My father was an excellent pilot. Back on Tattooine, where I grew up, I used to dream of flying starships... perhaps it runs in the family. Though Leia was never inclined to fly." A sense of accomplishment filled him--he had mentioned his sister, aloud, and no lightning struck and thunder called--_It's okay._ He waited and tried to look collected while Mara thought; he hoped that talking about such intimate topics would prompt her to open up.

"What happened to her? The Princess." Her eyes darted away and a blush stained her cheeks.

_Bold._ But Luke enjoyed her interest, in a way--the more they spoke the more he saw how much power he held in her eyes. "Poisoned. By rebels... thought she would leak information." The rawness of his words took him aback; there was so much pain there, so many unspoken aches. A soothing smoothness touched him near where Mara was seated: _empathy._ So she could force-communicate--with emotions at least.

"I'm sorry," she said, and then did something spontaneous--she lowered her sheilds and gently, hesitantly, as if seeking permission, stroked the edges of his mind.

He'd underestimated her control--her spirit was very tentative and had an honest, open quality. He reciprocated and lowered his barriers, stretching out his mind to connect with hers. It was very warm. Comforting, like it fit.

There was no rush of images; both restrained themselves, simply touching (their breathing became in-sync, and pupils dilated, and the universe beyond the windshield seemed to melt away into unimportance) until Mara let flow a clear stream of memories entertwined with emotions: A boy, young (though older than the girl who held the memory), padding over top thick grass with overalls spun of cheap cotton. The sun sparkles off the lilacs lining the path through the grove--he touches one gently with all the inquisitiveness of a child, smiling when the purple buds fall and scatter amidst the undergrowth. _I had a brother, once,_ she said, and Luke felt the boy's hand in his palm--soft baby-skin, and a heartbeat born of the same blood...

"What happened to him?" he asked. The memories halted, though her walls remained down, so Luke didn't resurrect his--a mutual sign of trust.

"He died." She ached with the words (he could feel her more clearly now).

"How?"

"Jedi," she said. "They knew he was force-sensitive, and said he was destined for dark things..."

_Destiny._ Luke sneered at the word. "Ridiculous."

"Yeah," she said somewhat sadly--_But they forgot me._ She blinked before straightening up and focusing on the controls, feeling drained--split open.

Skywalker closed his eyes and leaned back, listening to the song of her breathing, eventually drifting into uneasy dreams.

* * *

He was asleep.

Mara traced the lines of his face with her eyes while reflecting on their words earlier. She didn't know what prompted her to lower her shields--she simply sensed it was the _right _thing to do, and followed that instinct. But she felt more comfortable around him--he wasn't psychotic, at least.

Most people seem less frightening when they sleep, but while he relaxed she sensed that he had put up a great effort to seem less threatening--the dark energy was rolling off him in waves now, thick and crackling against her senses like static in the air. His body was stretched out across the seat, his muscles tense beneath his shirt--he seemed so much more powerful than her. An anxiety rose within her--perhaps he had been overly-analytical with their encounters, and she too quick to trust him.

His eyes flew open; she stiffened, inhaling in surprise, fingers tightening against the seat's grip. "Are you tired of flying, Mara?"

The colour of his gaze was unnatural--too cold, like the blue had been drawn away and steel shone stripped like bone beneath it--she wondered if the dark side had seeped into his body, changing it. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think I'll head off to bed. If that's alright with you."

"No problem."

He waited, watching her, until she swallowed and sat up. She sensed his eyes following her out of the cockpit and felt exposed and irrationally angry, as if she had lost that encounter and he had an advantage now.

But he always would have the advantage. _The most powerful men in the galaxy_--she felt so on a leash that the anger boiled within her and she channeled it into training deep into the night, grateful for the dark side's guidance.


	7. Chapter 7

_By the rivers dark  
I wandered on.  
I lived my life  
in Babylon._

_And I did forget  
My holy song:  
And I had no strength  
In Babylon._

_By the rivers dark  
Where I could not see  
Who was waiting there  
Who was hunting me._

* * *

She was not sleeping. 

He felt her energy rising and falling like a violent tide, foaming with frustration. He punched in some co-ordinates and then swept down the hall, black robes swishing against the floor--_over there,_ he felt it, and turned to a bare room bridging off the bedrooms. Quietly, muffling the waves of sound creak by creak, he slid open the slick metal door and leaned against the frame, taking in Mara's form twisting and diving in an intricate attack combination against an invisible foe.

She had cast her shirt off; it lay haphazardly piled next to the brim of the mats. He took in the expanse of smooth skin stretched taunt over muscles--her hair, darkened with sweat, clung in curls to her heaving shoulders. She was wearing a simple undergarment: a band around her ribcage with a strap strung across her neck to support her breasts--full, he noticed, the pale swell beneath her collarbones as elegant as the rest of her. She had on loose-fitting imperial pants and was barefoot. The soles of her feet made angry slapping sounds across the mat.

He was stunned, as when he had first seen Leia cast in a hologram on Tattoine. For the room's dimmed lights shone off her hair, and her eyes sparkled damp with a determined exhaustion--such lively eyes, really. And her lips were darkened--full, red, angry--her cheeks bushing too. She looked so _alive_, and he felt her channeling the force with a dark desperation with her blows. She was beautiful.

_"You could take her."_

Was that the Emperor? Was that himself?

_You could._

And then a flash: her eyes widening in surprise, lashes trembling, mouth open, a cry--_"You could--"_

She stopped fighting and stood breathing heavily in the centre of the room. Her eyes were closed, black crescents fluttering over her cheeks...

No.

Luke walked out of the room, trembling, feeling as if a path of nightmares had opened before him. He went straight to the edge of his bed and sat there, head in his hands, for a long, long time before falling asleep. _A dark world in bloom..._

He was still so curious.

* * *

When Mara awoke it was late. She dressed quickly--a forest greet jumper, comfortably clinging to her skin; she felt so much less restricted than in bulky Imperial robes. Her head was clouded, and dreams she couldn't remember lingered in her thoughts. Braiding her hair quickly and efficiently, she stalked to the kitchens. 

Apparently Skywalker had slept too; he was eating fruit at the table, straight-shouldered in a black shirt. His movements were slow and lazy--he hadn't slept well. She wondered what had kept him up. "Good morning Luke." She filled a glass full of water and sat down across from him, crossing her legs casually on the chair and perching her elbows on her knees. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well," he stated. "That colour suits you." His eyes were staring faraway, and a troubled look had settled upon his face.

"Thank you." She sipped her water, nervous before him--why did he elicit these anxieties? "I suppose you'd like to fly today?"

He smiled lightheartedly, and she felt more at ease. "Only if your highness would permit me, of course."

She tapped a long nail against her chin: "Permission granted."

He grinned, then left for the cockpit, the breeze from his robes toying with red tendrils fallen loose, framing Mara's face. She rummaged and ate, glad that the day had started on a good tone.

They'd land before dusk.


	8. Chapter 8

_They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom__  
For trying to change the system from within  
I'm coming now, I'm coming to reward them  
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

_I'm guided by a signal in the heavens  
I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin  
I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons  
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

_I'd really like to live beside you, baby  
I love your body and your spirit and your clothes  
But you see that line there moving through the station?  
I told you, I told you, told you, I was one of those_

_And I thank you for those items that you sent me  
The monkey and the plywood violin  
I practiced every night, now I'm ready  
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

* * *

"Have you ever seen a Jedi die?" He asked as they were unpacking in their hotel in the centre of the busiest district on the planet. The rumors were true: Arbra was beautiful. Sprawling moss carpets spotted with flowers lined the sidewalks, ferns curled thick in front of office doors, insects hummed amidst wildflowers--and everywhere trees sat sturdy and sacred: in between buildings, next to the roads, in bar alleys. It was as if the Alliance had built a city without disturbing forest, and both had grown around one another like two trees twisted at the roots. 

He could tell she loved it here--her mood had brightened upon landing; one the sun touched her hair she just seemed more relaxed. Even while she thought up a response her eyes were drawn past the window to fields beside neon shops. Dusk's hues billowing like a sandstorm on the horizon: sunset was a deep purple here, on this planet. "Not in person." Her voice was soft. "But I've seen it, in visions..."

His interest piqued. "When?"

Her jaw tightened--"The Emperor showed me... When Vader struck down obi-wan, I saw it, and then he said: _This is the power of the dark side._ I didn't know who the Jedi was, even."

"A liar."

The room's relaxed atmosphere had fallen into a tense silence. Mara had sat down on the ledge of the bed and was watching Skywalker, waiting for him to speak of his connection to Obi-wan, but he didn't mention how he knew him--instead he asked: "What did you notice about the fight?"

She stretched back into her memories and saw it like a film (the Emperor had done something to keep it burned in her mind)--and noticed how the old man had stilled and let the Sith strike him down. "He gave up."

"They all do in the end--though they'll struggle in the battle, Jedi embrace death like cowards."

She retorted cynically: "As opposed to the Sith, who'll kill half a universe to flee it?"

A rush of emotions ran from him, too complicated to decipher for her--_strong_ emotions though. Her gaze trailed his tightening fists; she had offended something deep within him. "As opposed to the Sith who'll stay for their causes--endure the pain here for their beliefs. If the Jedi's goddamn mission is to 'fight evil' why do they all flee to their nirvana? All talk."

He calmed after the rant and searched her--she immediately retracted her shields, and he found behind them a sort of envious disdain for the Jedi, but a seething _Hate_ for the Sith. She let him glimpse that anger for a split second before her walls flew up and she leveled a confrontational look in his direction. "I am not a part of your dark side. Leave me out of it."

_No, she would be far to independent to pick sides, wouldn't she?_ "As you wish." He looked at her forlornly for a moment before sorting through clothing and weapons spread out on the carpet as if the discussion had never taken place. She let him busy himself for a few moments before changing the subject entirely.

"Should we begin sorting through this city tonight, then?"

* * *

"Am I too recognizable?" 

She surveyed him, thinking of her first impression--that everything about him was dark. Dark hair, eyes, clothing, aura--he was so changed from the fallen hero people spoke of. "No... this planet it distant, secluded. I doubt anybody would recognize you."

"Good."

As they set out towards the bright lights, she didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd lost himself.


	9. Chapter 9

It was obvious that the Empire hadn't touched the planet yet--the people still went around their business largely ignoring intergalactic politics. Though some supported the Alliance, most inhabitants only wanted was a free world to live on and weren't very interesting in joining the war. They allowed people to come and go, half-listening to the politics.

Add that attitude to the planet's seclusion, and Mara and Luke were faced with a bizarrely open attitude about the rebels.

"Oh ya, they're here. Just look for cheap jumpers, eh?"

"Check the bars. Those starpilots..."

"Oh! Are you looking for anyone specific? There's a lovely rebel reading group that meets at the library."

Weren't they concerned the Alliance would draw the Empire's wrath?

"They've never been to war," Mara commented. The trees were unscarred, the air unpolluted--yes, it was a peaceful place. The last sentence of her mission outline briefly scrolled through her mind: terminate the rebels. But everyone here was sort of a half-assed supporter of the alliance. Would they be expected to wipe out a whole city?

"Excuse me?"

The humanoid creature stilled in the crowd and faced Luke's deadpan expression. It was about a foot taller than him with stalks sprouting out of its head and too-large, rounded teeth. "Yes?"

"Do you anything of the Alliance's presence here?"

It snorted dismissively. "They're hiding out." Its voice was low, like long strings stretched throughout his body were vibrating with a deep hum beneath his words. "Check out the bars. Where they meet, around round tables--it isn't hard to find."

"Thank you."

Looking somewhat annoyed, the creature slunk back into the crowd. Mara was eyeing Luke with a look of disbelief, a hand perched on her hip. "You don't think it's dangerous to pull random people off the streets?"

"He won't remember the encounter."

"Whatever. Let's find a bar then."

They were strolling down the sprouting sidewalks without knowing where they were going (walking looks less suspicious, Mara had ordered). Every couple blocks they'd pass a booming business, music and whistles pounding through the glass, and Luke would eye it disdainfully and want to press on.

"They're all the same. Let's just pick on and go in!" She was growing impatient.

"They're dangerous places," he murmured.

"So? You blew up a Death Star. Isn't that less frightening than a pissed-off drunk wookie?"

"Not dangerous for me..." He trailed off and saw her eyes blaze. Wrong thing to say. Despite knowing she was powerful and an able fighter, he couldn't shake off his first impression: attractive woman. Seedy bars. The two didn't mix.

"You are ridiculous." Then without speaking any further she stormed past the closest bouncers and into roving lights and thrumming music.

Luke followed, irritated. How compulsive. But most about Mara was compulsive; even her use of the force largely came up in angry flares, emotional outpourings too strong to control. No wonder she drew from the dark side. He thought, as he tried to pinpoint her energy while scanning for red hair, that his master was too comfortable in thinking that Mara was allied with him. She had a natural inclination towards light things--he thought of her compassion when he spoke of Leia, her happiness at being reunited with nature, her detestment of the Sith.

Why was she allied with the Emperor anyway?

"Luke!" Embarrassed she'd spotted him first, he turned to see her hanging off the edge of a young man in x-wing uniform. There were four pilots at the table, though it was the man beside her wanted to touch her most. He could feel it quite strongly. Did she sense his attraction then single him out? "This is my friend Luke," she told everyone loudly. His eyes picked out a strong-smelling drink sitting on her knee: Well, that didn't take long.

"Hey Luke!" They cheered. "Grab a seat!"

He perched himself down straight-shouldered and sighing, disdain evident on his face. He swelled with urge to ask: "Do you know of Leia's death? Did you load the poison onto the death star with a heavy heart? Or were you relieved?" Murderers. He remained silent, following Mara's voice--the men around them were entranced by it; the more alcohol she drank the more interesting her tales became. He had the sinking sense she'd done this before and was quite enjoying his awkward silence.

"Oh yeah, Luke was part of the Alliance back on Tattione." The table quieted. Mara was looking at him with a grin; the man beside her had wound an arm around her side, and in response she'd pressed her body into his.

"Tattoine eh? So what was it--slave-freeing? Investigating moisture farms? I can't imagine there'd be much to do there."

"There isn't." The table broke into laughter at Luke's bluntness. Fine. Laugh. Anger was swelling within him--Mara's lips were on the man's jawbone laying down small kisses (and were her lips always that full?)

"So what're you guys planning up next?" She asked somewhat drunkenly, breasts were swelling out of her top and her perfume strong--sharp spices, strangely foreign but sweet nonetheless.

"Well," an older guy piped up, "We been waitin' for our commander to join us before loading up and leaving, but it's been two months so most've given her up for dead. Though she's pulled some crazy comebacks before I'll tell you what!" The table murmured and nodded in agreement as a sinking dread clung to Luke's stomach. Mara reached out a hand underneath the table and set in on his knee, rubbing his leg smoothly despite her disjointed body language elsewhere. So she was acting.

"Well where was she last seen?" Mara asked with a pout (oh, she was good).

"She led Endor's defense!" The table broke into congratulatory cheers: thousands of lives saved, a moon preserved, and the rebels were able to get all of their information and equipment safely away. It was considered, despite Leia's loss, a success.

Now Luke was bitter. The murder was obviously covered up. What lying scum, poisoning her like cowards and then praising her! He wanted to leave. I want to leave.

And as soon as he thought it Mara straightened and said, "I'm sorry, we have to go--we have tickets for a show." She kissed the man beside her deeply on the lips, even toying with his hair, and then broke off with a smile: "I'll be around here, kay?"

"Sure Lina," low-voiced. Certainly had an effect on _him._

As she gathered her purse one of his buddies blurted "Oh! Is that that wookie show? Where they get the Ewok-Wookie totem pole going, with the disco lights and all?" A shiver of excitement ran through the table.

"Yes, it's that one."

They broke into cheers once more, mugs rattling on the wood. Mara smiled and took Luke's hand in hers, winding out of the bar.

"So you going to show up here again, Lina?"

She laughed shyly, eyes on the ground. "No." She'd sobered up after leaving sight of the men; her footsteps were confident and straight. "Should we head back to the hotel?" She sensed his inner turmoil, the losses drudged up again with the mention of his sister.

"That would be nice."

Luke thought, walking beside her, that he liked her lightness and compassion. Hidden though it was--it was there. She cared for him.

* * *

Light years away, the Emperor felt his apprentice's dependence on the dark side slip and began formulating new plans. 


	10. Chapter 10

Oh I want you, I want you, I want you  
On a chair with a dead magazine  
In the cave at the tip of the lily  
In some hallways where love's never been  
On a bed where the moon has been sweating  
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand  
Love, oh my love  
Take this waltz, take this waltz  
Take its broken waist in your hand

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz  
With its very own breath of brandy and Death  
Dragging its tail in the sea

* * *

Oh, he was stressed. 

She'd made the monumental mistake of mentioning some stupid thing at the bar (she'd forgotten what exactly she said, but knew it was some trivial comment)--and then he'd criticized the rebels, followed by some _stupid_ devil's-advocate defense she'd thrown out, and now he was angry and hurt and confused. And she was stuck in the room with him.

"God damn those drunk idiots! Liars! Murderers! My sister died for _that?__For them?!"_

Funny how he seemed so calm, controlled, but he was a ranter alright. And pacing, boots thumping against hotel carpet.

"Why this comflict even?" His voice was growing louder--briefly, she thought of others in the hotel, but figured that he could wipe their brains or something. Not a priority.

"Why these divides? Polarization! Light, Dark, God I'm so sick of death for these stupid _ideals_, is all they are--why not some fucking middle-ground here!!"

The pissed-off sith would be the priority. _Calm down._ She didn't want to reach out to him because she didn't want to feel that anger flow into her... better to be distant. "Calm down," in a low voice. She was sitting on the bed, hand under her chin, wishing she had brought some alcohol back from the bar and glad she was still a bit buzzed.

Luke _did_ still--but was churning with turmoil, fists tight--had she said the wrong thing?

"Okay." A sigh, deflation of tension--a surrender. He walked over and sat down beside her. The dam of hatred had broken, and the sorrow was seeping out like water; though she wasn't trying to actively read him she felt it pour off his form and pool around her on the bed. He must be drowning.

She thought deeply her next words (for the thickness of the silence following Luke's calm seemed to warrant some depth), and then stated: "I feel lost too sometimes. Everyone suffers... and if you didn't I suppose you'd feel very alone."

He was looking out the window at the stars. _Luke Skywalker,_ she thought--a fitting name. His eyes seemed bluer when he was sad, or open--maybe the greyness was a shield overtop. The yellowed city-light fell like tiger-stripes over the bedspread through the blinds, folding over his legs and wrists. This close, she could smell the starchy fabric of his robes and feel (with her skin or the force?) the heat coming off of his body. "I know. Suffering builds strength." Rambled straight off of some Sith rulebook with a blank face. His lips were smooth, nicely shaped. Attractive.

"And compassion." She said, then rubbed his back.

Such a primal gesture, he thought. Felt nice though--another person's heat. He wished he could press against her hard enough that they would merge, and then she'd cup his pain in her palms like a saint cradling holy water before dissolving it away with a laugh. The dark side lingered on the outskirts and her eyes warmed, warm palms, warm breaths--he clung to her. _Save me._ When had she become his religion?

For a moment he was in awe of this woman, this mysteriously beautiful intelligent woman, sitting beside him, touching him with only love. When was the last time he'd been touched? Her hair was a deep red, dark as her lips. He pictured it pooling across the sheets like bloody water, over his skin, slipping over sweat. On a complete impulse he reached up and ran his fingers through it: not as soft as his--thicker, cool on his fingers--it smelled like flowers. Before, when he'd thought of it, he'd seen it so differently...

Like a violent act. Lustful. Selfish. Dark. Like killing her a little bit. Like worshipping that power.

But he wasn't frightened of that, not now--not with her head pressing softly on his shoulder, rumbling with her breaths. Worship _her._

She kissed him. Arched up and softly probed his lips, aching with hesitance--once he kissed back she became passionate, suddenly sure. When they broke off she smiled and stroked his shoulder.

_Attachment..._

_My duty..._

_loss..._

_What next?_

Her hand on his shoulder, fingering the edge of his shirt. Green eyes sparkling, body paused--permission?

He took off his shirt with a small nod and met a surge of warmth from her--strong emotions, anticipation. He watched her clothes slip off the contours of her body: over her nipples, stomach, pooling cold at her ankles--such soft skin, white with shadows playing accross her collarbones. Such a beautiful woman. And he wanted to be lost.

* * *

And I'll dance with you in Vienna  
I'll be wearing a river's disguise  
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,  
My mouth on the dew of your thighs  
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,  
With the photographs there, and the moss  
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty  
My cheap violin and my cross  
And you'll carry me down on your dancing  
To the pools that you lift on your wrist  
Oh my love, Oh my love  
Take this waltz, take this waltz  
It's yours now. It's all that there is 


End file.
